The German Raisins

After having fallen into a gestation-induced coma the last two days, I woke up this morning with more energy than I've had in a long time. And I was able to persue my favorite pre-pregnancy Saturday hobby: cleaning. Of course, it took me like five hours to clean our kitchen, where I discovered condiments from years past and other fomerly powdered things that have since taken on a congealed form. I'm hoping that my inability to stop cleaning isn't a sign of labor to come, since the baby's not quite baked yet. But now Björn has assumed mopping duty, and I am left to enjoy my Braxton Hicks with my complete and full attention.

Anyway, after I found raisins stuck to everything we had in the pantry, I realized one thing: We are disgusting people who probably shouldn't be reproducing. Oh wait, it wasn't the raisins that made me have that revelation. It was all the booze bottles we've been hoarding, most of them with just mere inches of liquid in them. Now if I weren't in the family way, I would've certainly come up with a way to mix all of that shit into a tasty cocktail. Tasty being relative, of course. Perhaps palatable is the word I'm looking for. But, since Björn considers drinking the hard stuff alone to be kind of socially frowned upon, he gave one for his homies and flushed it all down the toilet.